


in the dead of night, tell me you'll be mine

by wshxn



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Heartbreak, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wshxn/pseuds/wshxn
Summary: there is a hollow space in jongin’s chest where chanyeol used to be.





	in the dead of night, tell me you'll be mine

there is a hollow space in jongin’s chest where chanyeol used to be.  
  
in it, the absence of the sound of chanyeol’s playful cackles, the spark in his eyes in the morning sun, the color of his hair under the winter moon. in it, the lack of the distinctive sound of quiet singing, the soft press of wandering lips on golden skin, the faint scent of cinnamon on his sheets.  
  
there is static, deafening silence in the room where words were once fingers clawing on bare skin, grips dangerously strong, and names whispered hoarsely in the dark; on the couch that committed bruised lips, world momentarily forgotten as they hold on to something much more real.  
  
or what jongin thought they both believed to be.  
  
it happened in the park where they last held hands, where their kisses, fleeting, came to an end; where chanyeol left pieces of himself scattered in the distance he’d put between himself and jongin with tight lips and muttered apologies. jongin had wept so openly then, tears getting caught in the wind, pleas shunned as chanyeol walked farther away.  
  
jongin had lost his dream.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
oftentimes chanyeol wonders what went wrong.  
  
how the once silver bells in jongin’s laughter now made him wince through his coffee, the lazy slurs that once lulled him to sleep keeping him up all night; how a touch so dear burned his skin, tainting it with hellfire and dread,  _grief_. jongin was there, always has been, yet loneliness or something else altogether loomed over chanyeol like a plague, an unknown misery.  
  
chanyeol lost something along the way, something he can’t quite put his finger on, like the color in jongin’s eyes, or the way his toes turned blue when it snows. maybe it was the enchantment of waking up to sun-kissed skin, prancing along to vibrant dancing come evening, or making love to eternity in the wee hours of two or three. maybe chanyeol had forgotten about the joy in the curves of jongin’s smile, in his fingers that painted promises on chanyeol’s palms like he was meant to catch them, but something came amiss.  
  
maybe it was meant to be so.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
jongin is wearing a sweater from the pile chanyeol had chosen to leave behind.  
  
there is a kimchi stain on the right cuff from one of those nights when they bickered over something petty and made up with a food fight, a searing kiss. there is a run on the collar from where jongin had pulled chanyeol close,  _so close_ , and trailed his tongue along his jaw lustfully, waking up to a scent no longer his.  
  
there is music playing in the background of a gloomy sunday afternoon, songs that have been listed with much thought by chanyeol on their second anniversary, and jongin remembers the way chanyeol had pulled him to his feet, waltzing to rap songs, and dancing haphazardly to ballads. jongin chooses to remember every day, waiting, hoping for chanyeol’s return, believing that things will be alright again.  
  
the sun is just beginning to set, and jongin misses being home.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
chanyeol has walked these streets one too many times.  
  
sometimes he comes to think, sometimes to wait for seconds to tick by. today, the snow begins to melt. he begins to retrace the steps he’d taken all those years ago, passing by the café where he’d first caught sight of jongin. the sun had been shining through the younger man’s locks, frustration caught in a halo of light as he read over his textbook with a frown. he remembers watching from a safe distance, entranced, captivated by the twirl of a pen on eager fingers, how jongin had looked at him curiously over a mug of hot chocolate he’d offered with an encouraging smile. he remembers the pink that bloomed across jongin’s cheeks, lips gnawed timidly between teeth in an attempt to hide a smile, and chanyeol only really wanted to kiss him senseless.  
  
chanyeol orders himself hot cocoa, bittersweet and nostalgic, and sits ruefully by the window, regret slowly creeping into his bones.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
this isn’t the first time jongin is left sobbing through the evening until all that is left are dry heaves, a more vulnerable and broken jongin. he misses chanyeol,  _he misses chanyeol_ , yet he yearns to stop  _wanting_  and live at peace.  
  
but the thought of chanyeol tugs at his heartstrings, pulling him to his feet, bringing him to the door with untied shoelaces, a sweater far too thin for the january breeze. he trudges through the thinning snow, the almost empty streets, the quiet conversations he passes, and he clings to himself, insecure and fragile in his own skin. his feet take him to that park, that very same place where he’d lost himself in the change of heart of another, where he thinks  _home_  could be nearest. he sits and he shivers, breath white and staggered, and he waits.  
  
he will wait for as long as he can.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
there are a lot of things chanyeol doesn’t understand, doesn’t know the answer to.  
  
why people fall and fail, the light dying from their eyes at the heartbreak; why pain equates to the swell of joy in your chest, why some things may not last a lifetime, or why happiness isn’t granted without suffering or loss. oftentimes chanyeol questions where he is on that scale, stuck between the hours of finding what seems to have been there in the first place, or what used to be:  _jongin._  
  
jongin was worth every minute that trickled by, every squabble, every heartache and warmth; jongin was worth fighting for, and chanyeol let him slip through his fingers with a selfish, unreasonable mistake. chanyeol misses him so dearly, and all those months of convincing himself  _i’m okay, i’ll be okay_ come crashing down, drowning him.  
  
chanyeol wants to stop running.  
  
he flinches at the papercut from the magazine he hasn’t been reading, brows furrowed at the moistened glass. the temperature drops as hours pass, until the clock strikes four in the morning and the café loses most of its customers. he ignores the wary glances from the employees, the apparent concern in their eyes as he staggers to the door with shaking hands, a trembling soul.  
  
he doesn’t even realize he’s been crying, if not for the way his vision blurred with every wisp of the wind, the way his breathing seemed to come to momentary halts. he’s wearing the scarf jongin bought for him with his first paycheck, and a whiff of something distinctively jongin from its creases makes him choke back a sob.  
  
he’s only vaguely aware of his surroundings, hands buried deep in his pockets, and the amount of caffeine in his system somewhat keeps him warm. it’s not until he trips on his toes, almost falling on his knees, that he becomes conscious of where he is.  
  
this is where he’d let jongin go.  
  
from a distance he sees someone sitting on that very same bench, silhouette all too familiar to be unrecognized. chanyeol’s eyes widen with every distance closed, every step taken towards the man he couldn’t possibly forget.  
  
jongin’s lips are blue when he looks up at him, gaze knowing, confused, hurt, barely recovering from the months they spent apart.  
  
there are a million and one things he wants to say, yet his mouth remains shut, void of words but the sound of quivering breaths. jongin still looks painfully beautiful, captivating under the ill-lit sky, and jongin’s gaze remains on him, even as he sits beside him ever so gently like any movement would break what little moment they have.  
  
he looks up, unsure and terrified, and begins to count the drops of falling snow.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
jongin’s heart stills at the very sight of park chanyeol.  
  
it’s been months since he last saw him, seemingly cold and determined, and yet years of togetherness has not once rendered him immune to the warmth, the longing for park chanyeol, the sheer yearning to wake up at a distance close enough to count chanyeol’s eyelashes, to kiss him in the first of morn and perhaps sleep in until noon.  
  
jongin is  _still_  utterly in love with chanyeol that he’s long forgiven him for the despair, the loneliness. perhaps he’s waited for this very moment where he can maybe hope for chanyeol again. he isn’t expecting an apology, a promise to make up for the time lost―just having chanyeol here, an arm’s length away, is enough to pacify the knot twisting in his stomach.  
  
his hands are immobile atop his lap, palms up like he’d intended to catch what little snow is left of the season.  
  
jongin has always loved winter, loved the joyous season it brings, the cold that kept him nestled among a sea of blankets and chanyeol’s warmth and presence, and now, with chanyeol within his grasp, everything is just as breathtakingly beautiful and serene.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
chanyeol slips a careful hand over jongin’s palm, lacing his fingers with his own, and there is hope and second chances in the way their pulses quicken under the familiar touch, the way they tremble at how much they missed  _this_ —the feeling of being  _home_.  
  
chanyeol takes a deep breath, and sighs jongin’s name like a song, and finally,  _finally_ , he has stopped running.

**Author's Note:**

> this is for @jjonqins, who reminds me of my immense love for chankai, & that the pairing is definitely worth shipping (also because she's a precious bb doll). ❤


End file.
